Where There Is Moonlight And Music
by Lola Me
Summary: British Air Force Lieutenant Blaine Anderson is injured in the London Blitz, leaving him temporarily blinded and uncertain about his future.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Where There is Music and Moonlight **(Part 1 of 2)  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing:** Klaine  
**Word Count:** 6,348

**Betas**: agent-girlsname and perry_avenue over on LJ

**Summary**: British Air Force Lieutenant Blaine Anderson is injured in the London Blitz, leaving him temporarily blinded and uncertain about his future.

* * *

Pain was the only thing Blaine could feel. His legs felt compressed or crushed and somehow both hot and cold at once. The pain in his head and neck brought bile to the back of his throat and he hoped he wouldn't throw up because he was quite sure he couldn't lift his head enough to avoid choking on his own vomit. There was firm pressure all around his head, and he thought maybe there were bandages around his eyes. He was glad for that, because it felt like there might be fire burning under his eyeballs.

He was scared, and confused.

The smell and hard mattress under him told him he was in a hospital. Maybe he had crashed his plane? He didn't remember going up for a raid the night before. He had thought it was his night off – a rare night where he didn't take to the skies to fly over continental Europe, risking his life fighting the Germans over millions of scared people. But he wasn't meant to be up there last night. He was meant to be sleeping in his uncle's house after some well-deserved leave catching up with those friends and family still in London. Most had fled to the countryside.

Noise and movement around him interrupted his labored thought process. Whispered instructions – nurses he supposed – and the occasional knock against where he lay causing renewed bolts of pain through his legs and up one side of his torso. It was obvious he was in a bad way.

He strained his ears through the bandages around his head, and managed to make out a murmured conversation.

"Yes, I just arrived, I'm Dr. Kurt Hu-"

"Yes Dr. Humphrey," the second voice – a woman's, he thought – cut off the first with a strange emphasis. "We were expecting you from the States. Welcome to hell."

"But that's not-"

"_Here_ it is," the woman's voice insisted. "I fear the patients would not be at ease otherwise. These are frightening times."

"Fine," Blaine heard the lilt of an American accent in the male voice, and he thought to himself that the voice sounded kind, before a fresh knock against his leg brought the bile racing up his throat again and he passed out.

* * *

When Blaine next woke, the pain in his leg and side was an ever-present ache, but no longer agony. The pain in his head had also subsided, but he felt thirsty beyond any thirst he had felt before, and the burning feeling behind his eyeballs, making them feel dry and like there was glass in them, was at the forefront of his mind.

He started moving his mouth, trying to get any relief from his thirst with his own saliva, as the air shifted again. The sound of someone humming softly in the room reached his ears. He recognized the song as being from one of his favourite movies, a Fred Astaire movie from the 30s.

"_There may be trouble ahead  
__But while there's moonlight and music  
__And love and romance"_

The voice trailed off, and Blaine tried to complete the stanza in a raspy, cracked voice. It was one of his favorite songs, after all:

"_Let's face the music and dance"_

The air around him stilled for a moment and then he felt a rush come towards him.

"Lieutenant?" Blaine heard the soft voice just by his right ear.

"Uhhh," Blaine tried to speak, but the effort of saying the last line of the song seemed to have spent the last of the moisture in his mouth that would allow for speech.

"It's ok Lieutenant, don't try to speak," the air moved again. "Nurse!" The voice rang out more forcefully. "Some water please!"

Some moments later Blaine felt cool liquid against his lips and opened his mouth slightly, trying to work his tongue and cheeks to lubricate his system.

"My name is Dr. Kurt Hu- I am the doctor on duty here," the soft voice spoke again. "You're in good hands. Do you know your name?"

"Blaine Anderson, Lieutenant in the British Air Force."

"Good, Lieutenant. Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital?" Blaine whispered, trying to strain his ears to get a better gauge of his surroundings.

"You're at the 3rd Station Hospital, London of course. Do you know how you got here?"

Blaine tried to move his head to shake "no" but abruptly stopped and took in a sharp breath as the pain welled inside his head and he felt pressure building anew behind his eyeballs.

"Try not to move," the doctor's hand steadied Blaine's right arm and he realized his arm must be one of the only parts of him that wasn't injured because the contact didn't cause any pain. "Just whisper, if you can."

"I… did I crash?"

"No you weren't flying," the doctor's voice was soothing, and Blaine was relieved for the moment – he wouldn't have injured any civilians in that case. "The house in which you were sheltering from the raid suffered a direct hit. I'm sorry to say you are the only survivor."

Blaine gasped, and the pain in his chest rivaled the pain he felt elsewhere. His uncle, cousin, and best friend would have been with him. He couldn't remember it, but he thought he was meant to be playing poker with them that night.

"Lieutenant please relax," Blaine felt a slight squeeze on his arm. "For now I need you to concentrate on getting well again – you have sustained serious injuries to your legs and bruising to your abdomen which I hope doesn't indicate severe internal bleeding."

"And my eyes, Dr. ... uh…"

"Call me Kurt," Kurt replied.

An indignant noise came from the corner of the room.

"Is there a problem, Nurse Fabray?" he asked, his voice cutting through the cool but humid air in the hospital.

"Not at all,_ Kurt_," the nurse's poised British accent revealed her social standing prior to the war. "I am just unused to your colloquial American ways."

"I apologize," the doctor's voice seemed closer to Blaine's ear again. "I understand you may find it strange since you are British, but I would prefer it if you referred to me by my Christian name. After all, I am an officer of the Air Force just like you."

"But you're American?" Blaine was tiring fast, but confused and curious about the surroundings he couldn't see.

"That I am," the doctor replied, "I didn't say I was an officer of _your_ air force. I volunteered to serve here with injured soldiers and officers in the United Kingdom rather than monitor cuts and scrapes from training exercises in Pearl Harbor – my Government may not have seen fit to support our friends across the Atlantic, but they have allowed people like me to come and help."

"Hmmm," Blaine felt the tugs of darkness envelope him once more.

"I will check on you again soon, Lieutenant," the voice echoed as Blaine slipped into unconsciousness.

"S'Blaine," Blaine managed to say before yet again he succumbed to Morpheus' arms. "Call me Blaine."

* * *

For days, possibly weeks, Blaine was barely conscious. He learned in brief snippets of semi-wakefulness that both his legs were broken – his right leg shattered quite badly – but that they should heal alright as long as he remained in convalescence long enough. His eyes had obviously also sustained serious damage. He hadn't understood the words spoken to him but he understood well enough that bandaging was required – the pain and discomfort he felt while bandages were being changed had convinced him of that quite quickly. He was assured, however, that they too would heal, although he would not see for some weeks, perhaps even months, while the healing process ran its course.

The doctor seemed most worried about his abdomen, as there were signs that the internal bleeding, which seemed to have stopped, may have given way to an infection. All Blaine knew was that he felt like less than a person, and horribly disconnected from the world. His only connections to the space around him were the impatient but proficient care of Nurse Fabray, and the quiet but frequently melodious presence of Dr Humphrey, as Nurse Fabray had informed him the doctor was called.

He couldn't bring himself to address the doctor by his Christian name. He was even a bit embarrassed about suggesting the doctor address him as "Blaine", and quietly relieved that the doctor had continued to call him "Lieutenant". His father would have been horrified to hear of such familiarity otherwise.

He wondered where his father was; probably in the war room somewhere with the Minister, advising and assisting in the war effort. Certainly too busy to concern himself with Blaine, especially as Blaine was not fatally wounded. He probably hadn't even informed Blaine's mother; although even if he had she would be better served staying with family in Scotland, away from all the ugliness in London.

Still, a friendly or even familiar voice would have been welcome. Even from his vulgar brother, a sailor with the British Navy, though he supposed he was on a ship somewhere in the Atlantic. Blaine murmured a silent prayer that they were all safe and well, wherever they were.

The only time Blaine really felt fully conscious was when he was in immense pain. At times, there was only so much the morphine could do, especially during those early weeks when his legs were being subjected to early treatments to ensure they healed properly.

"I really am so sorry," Dr. Humphrey's voice seemed distant through pain as once again his legs were forced into movement. Blaine was just doing his best not to scream, and grunted and groaned as his legs were moved, only slightly, into some form of new bracket. "This is necessary and we just do not have enough morphine."

"I'm not sure there is enough morphine in the world for this," Blaine grunted, glad for the bandages over his eyes that compressed them, preventing tears from forming.

Blaine let out a roar of pain as the doctor and Nurse Fabray moved his right leg one final time. As soon as they removed their hold from his leg, however, Blaine could tell the move had been necessary. It was now encased so that it could not move at all, and the pressure on all sides seemed to be keeping the shattered bones from falling out. The pain was still present, but it was now contained.

"I will fetch the next dosage of morphine, doctor," Nurse Fabray moved out of the room and Blaine felt a draft and click as the door closed behind her.

"Doctor?" Blaine asked, hoping the doctor was still in the room.

"Yes Lieutenant?" Dr. Humphrey's voice was closer than Blaine had thought, only a foot or so from his ear.

"Am I in a private room?"

"Why no Lieutenant, however you are, shall we say, in rather better shape than your three roommates."

"Only three?"

"You are in the officer's wing, Lieutenant, I am informed you may have connections."

"Oh. I'm not sure I feel comfortable with that."

Dr. Humphrey chuckled. "If that's all you're feeling uncomfortable about, Lieutenant, then I think I should tell the nurse not to give you any more morphine!"

"I'd almost prefer to feel more awake, actually," Blaine said, regretting it almost instantly as the pain in his legs reasserted itself. "It's bad enough that I can't see anything."

"As frustrating as that must be, Lieutenant, I can assure you the world around us is not particularly beautiful at this time, and I'm not just talking about the drab color of the walls in this room," the doctor's voice was tinged with sadness. "You are not missing much."

"I am missing from my squadron," Blaine said.

"I am sure you are with them in spirit," Dr. Humphrey said, "and your thoughts and prayers will help keep them safe."

"Yeah," Blaine felt a sudden surge of bitterness. "Safely in the officer's wing of a hospital, coddled by an actually _kind_ doctor. I wasn't even shot down while flying! Injured in my sleep! Father must be so embarrassed."

"You're a brave man, Lieutenant, and I won't have any more of this negativity," the doctor said, placing a cool dry hand on Blaine's arm. "Besides, I'm informed it was your father that arranged for your care here rather than with the general population."

"Huh, it wasn't because he thought I was a brave man, I can assure you." Blaine said. "He doesn't consider me enough of a man to be brave, never has."

"I will forget that you have said that, for I fear you will be embarrassed by your words when you are quite yourself," the doctor said gently, lifting his hand from Blaine's arm and moving away from the bed. "But for the record, I am sure that you are a fine man, Blaine, and no matter how you were injured, you were and are in the service of your country. You should be proud of that, and never forget it."

The door clicked open and shut as Dr. Humphrey left the room, and Blaine became aware of the sounds of other patients breathing, the rhythm slow and steady indicating they were all unconscious.

He let himself join them as exhaustion overtook him, and he tried not to dream, although his spirits were raised slightly by the doctor's kind words. There was at least one friendly voice in the abyss.

* * *

As the days wore on Blaine's periods of wakefulness increased. Unfortunately, it signified his body's growing resistance to the pain medication, meaning his discomfort increased in equal measure. He supposed he was healing, but it was hard to be sure as he could barely move, and of course could still not see.

Even as he became more aware of his surroundings, however, he spent much of his time feigning unconsciousness.

It had started because the doctor had been right and he _was_ a little embarrassed by his comments. It had not been appropriate to speak so candidly of his feelings, and he did not want sympathy from a person he didn't know, even if that person was kind and friendly in a way that doctors rarely were. The very fact that he said anything about his family relationships was exactly the kind of thing his father would frown upon.

His apparent inability to converse with the doctor or others beyond simple questions and answers had been accepted after a couple of days and mostly he was left alone.

It was very early one morning, shortly after the doctor had arrived for the day, that they next spoke. It started with the usual questions:

"How are you today Lieutenant?"

"I believe I am improving, doctor."

"And the pain?"

"It is manageable."

They were silent for a couple of minutes as the doctor took various measurements around Blaine. Blaine followed his movements with his working senses. He felt Dr. Humphrey's breath against the hairs on his skin when he was close, heard the steady rhythm of those breaths echoing against the walls, faster than the even breathing of those unconscious officers also in the room, and smelled the faint scent of lavender that must be from the doctor's soap, although he had no idea how he would have come across such a luxury in England.

"Hmmm."

"Something wrong, doctor?" Blaine sensed the doctor had stopped near his right shoulder.

"Not at all."

They were silent for another couple of minutes.

"It's just you seemed to be warming up to me a couple of weeks ago," the doctor seemed hesitant, "and now you are almost more formal than the first time we met – although I suppose that is reasonable given the reduced effects of your medication."

"Perhaps it is just that I am British, doctor. If I have offended you in any way I apologize. I assure you I harbor nothing but the greatest respect towards you."

"Oh no I am not offended Lieutenant," the doctor said. "I guess I just find it puzzling. Many of my other patients have become more, I suppose the word would be unguarded, as time has moved on."

"Is society in the United States really that different," Blaine wondered, "that such informality is the norm? I honestly do not mean you any offence or consternation, doctor, but our relationship is one that demands a level of civility in my mind."

"No I don't suppose it is that different," Dr. Humphrey sighed. "But I have never cared too much for society's expectations and norms; many of them do not seem to make sense in practice and I prefer to live by my own sensibilities, not those of someone else. I was able to maintain a sense of camaraderie in the course of my duties in Pearl Harbor, as I was recruited at the same time as many of the people for whom I was subsequently responsible. We were like a band of brothers, stationed in a tropical paradise. In fact, my brother Finn and I were recruited at the same time. He is currently running training exercises in the Pacific."

"Oh that is fortunate that you and your brother were stationed together," Blaine said. "_Finn_. That's a solid American name."

"He's a good American."

"I'm sure," Blaine said, "as I am sure you are as well, Doctor. You must miss your brother. I and my country are further indebted to you for coming to assist in the war effort."

"I feel indebted to the innocent people of the world for whom this war has led to tragedy and devastation. I couldn't stay on the sidelines, checking on cuts and scrape and the occasional fever among the personnel in Hawaii."

"I hope those minor ailments are the most that your brothers there have to face," Blaine's voice became tight as he thought of those he lost in the raid that put him in the hospital.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the doctor said. "I hope for the same. I suppose I do miss them, though. England is quite different from the United States, more different than I imagined. I suppose that is part of the reason that I had hoped people here would become more at ease and, yes, more informal, as they got to know me. I think it is even starting to work. Obviously not with you, but most of the ward assistants at least address me as 'Kurt' now."

"Ah well, from what I can infer from their chatter from time to time, I believe you are quite the curiosity for those young ladies," Blaine smiled. "Quite the prospect too."

"They are quite friendly and lovely," the doctor said with what Blaine was sure was a smile. "But I am afraid that they are only to be disappointed if they view me as a prospect."

"A lucky wife or girlfriend back home? Or has another young lady here in the British Isles stolen your heart?" Blaine realized he was leaving the staid formality behind, but the more he talked, the more at ease he felt, and the less he felt trapped within the bandages and pain. He had wanted a friendly voice after all.

"No, there is no wife, girlfriend or lady."

As Kurt spoke, the door to the ward suddenly swished open with a rush of cool air from the corridor.

"Lord knows it's not for lack of opportunity, either," Nurse Fabray said, moving into the room with what sounded like a trolley of some kind. "The harlots are practically throwing themselves at you; it's inappropriate and you should stop encouraging it with this 'Kurt' business."

Blaine didn't know what to say, but found himself rather amused by the exchange.

Nurse Fabray and her trolley moved to exit the room. "I would ask that you accompany me to the H ward, _Dr. Humphrey_, as one of your patients is being rather difficult this morning."

The doctor sighed. "Well, ah, I suppose I had better complete my rounds before the rest of the nurses and ward assistants arrive for the day" He checked Blaine's pulse one more time before moving towards the door. "Thank you for the conversation, Lieutenant. Perhaps you are warming up to me after all."

"I hope your day is pleasant, Doctor", Blaine responded. "Perhaps one day, in different circumstances, we may meet again and I may be able to acquiesce to your request and address you as 'Kurt'."

As the doctor left the room without further comment, Blaine realized he really hoped his statement would come true.

* * *

As time continued to pass, Blaine came to know and appreciate the routine of life in the officer's wing of the hospital, even if he had trouble appreciating how much time was actually passing.

He did not speak to the others housed in the same room as he, for they seemed to come and go while he remained, but he grew to respect Nurse Fabray's quiet determination in the face of any circumstance.

More than anything, he paid close heed to Dr. Humphrey's comings and goings, looking forward to their conversations as the doctor made his rounds. He was sure the doctor was only required, or really only had time, to check in once or twice a day on longer term patients such as he, but it seemed he was there more often. Early in the morning was the most agreeable, before the day staff arrived and certainly before Nurse Fabray's presence was felt with her constant bustling.

They spoke of everything and nothing: music, the theatre, and especially films. Blaine adored visiting the cinema, and was delighted that Dr. Humphrey did as well. They spoke for hours of the movie musicals starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and the masterpiece that had been _The Wizard of Oz_. Blaine loved those conversations, because they made it feel like the world was real, that there was more than the constant dark that enveloped his senses.

He started noticing that it was getting colder, and supposed that autumn must be on its way to surrendering to winter. His legs felt the cold particularly badly, despite the strong casings holding them in place. Lying still so constantly wasn't making it easier, and slowly he felt a chill settling in his chest.

Then, one morning, the doctor came to visit and, try as he might, Blaine could not rouse himself to participate in their conversation as he usually would. He felt hot, and his bandages around his face and casings around his legs were pricking at him due to the sweat forming against his skin.

"Lieutenant, I do not think you are quite well," the doctor said only moments after arriving. Blaine felt the cool hands against his burning skin and suddenly realized just how tired he still was.

"Well as you know, doc, I've got bandages covering most of me and have no idea whether it's night or day half the time," Blaine tried to make light of his predicament, but he knew that he was feverish.

"Witty banter, Lieutenant? I am impressed," the doctor started taking an array of measurements from Blaine. "Yes, you have a fever, nearly 40 degrees centigrade. I will be back."

Blaine was sure the doctor came back, but the fever hit him hard and he could only follow bits and pieces of the world from which he already felt so isolated. There was talk of infection, and Blaine thought he even heard anger in the doctor's voice, as if somehow it was the fault of other practitioners in the hospital. As he had done so many times over the past months, he just lay there, hopeless and unable to participate.

He started vomiting, and felt more wretched than he had since that moment he arrived. The vomiting endured for hours, but there was always someone with him, even as he was unconscious, because he would awake to feel their presence, and the welcome of cooling damp cloths against any exposed patches of skin.

"Shh, it's ok," Blaine recognized Dr. Humphrey's voice one of these times. "I would like to try to feed you some fluids, do you think you could keep them down?"

"Where… nurse?" Blaine croaked.

"It is nearly 3am, Lieutenant," the doctor whispered. "I imagine the night nurse is either sleeping or meeting with her cleaner-companion she thinks none of us knows about."

Blaine felt a wave of nausea threaten him and stilled himself, concentrating on the cool press of damp cloths on his skin, feeling the pressure of the doctor's hand behind them.

"Wh- why..."

"You are my patient, Lieutenant," the doctor replied. "You were my first patient when I arrived and you are probably the only one still here – most of everyone else who was here when I arrived has either recovered enough to leave or… other. I am not going to let you join those 'others'."

"What is wrong… with…"

"It's just an infection. It will pass, but you must be strong, you must fight, as your body has been under prolonged strain. You _must_ fight, Blaine."

Blaine tried to laugh and ended up emptying the contents of his stomach again, the doctor only just managing to tilt him to the side in time before he risked choking.

"I don't know how much longer…"

"I won't let you give up," the doctor insisted.

They fell into silence, Blaine's labored breathing the only sound filling the room.

"You know," the doctor said conversationally, "I do quite admire your Prime Minister."

Blaine didn't respond, but he turned his head towards the sound of the doctor's voice, which the latter took as a cue to continue.

"I can remember listening to a speech on the evacuation of Dunkirk," the doctor continued. "I had just qualified fully as a doctor and was to be sent to Pearl Harbor with Finn and others. I was afraid, and felt helpless because there was a war of good against evil and I wasn't able to take part in it. Churchill was so passionate, so determined, and so rousing, I don't think I will ever forget these words:

"_We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; and we shall never surrender"_

Blaine held his breath for a second at the last words; the same words that had steeled his resolve, and uplifted him and so many others to a new height in the war effort.

"Never surrender, Lieutenant," the doctor continued, seemingly not having noticed Blaine's pause. "You are part of this war effort, and you have your own personal journey to travel."

"A lot of time has passed since then," Blaine grunted.

"Maybe," the doctor replied, "but let me quote to you the words of your Prime Minister from just last week, on the occasion of visiting his old school:

"_Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never – in nothing, great or small, large or petty."_

"I read the account in the paper the other day," the doctor said, and you should take heed, Lieutenant, because I fear you are at the point of giving in, and you should not."

Blaine felt terrible, for he was letting the doctor down with his melancholy, but his wretched state had continued for months, months of pain and isolation, with no sight and precious little diversion from every ounce of discomfort afflicting him. He felt the fever welling inside him and sense seeping out of him. He felt hope dissipating.

"I do not want to give in," he said, "but I do not know at this point for what I would be fighting. I am not at battle, and I am not part of the war effort. Even if my legs recover and my eyesight returns I doubt I will be allowed in a plane again. Am I to be contented with sitting on the sidelines? I am not one for the sidelines, doctor. And even after the war, what is there for me? I have enjoyed life in the Air Force because even in peace time it has given me purpose. I do not wish for the standard wife and family. I would not be happy in that circumstance. So I ask you, Doctor, for what should I fight? Why should I not give in?"

There was a long pause. "You should fight, Lieutenant," the doctor said "because it is worth fighting for the life that you wish for, whatever that may be."

There was silence for some time between the two of them, and Blaine started nodding off, finally feeling as if he wasn't burning quite so much. Perhaps his fever was starting to break. He felt the air shift as the doctor stood and moved towards the door. It clicked open and Blaine was waiting for the accompanying click as it shut when he heard the doctor's voice instead.

"And anyway," the doctor's voice seemed to be shaking as he spoke, "it is my hope that there is a viable alternative to an unhappy life with a wife and family if that is not what one desires, for that life is not what I have ever wanted either."

* * *

Once his fever broke, Blaine finally started to feel like he was improving. He could shift in his position and even, with assistance from the nurses, move his legs a little without being overcome with pain. His head felt clearer and clearer as his medications were reduced, and the odd pressure behind his eyes seemed to be less. He hoped to have the bandages taken off his eyes soon.

There was a growing itchiness under all his bandages – over his face and his legs – which Dr. Humphrey assured him was a good sign, and Blaine started to look forward to the future. He supposed having a future at all was hope enough, even if what it held for him was uncertain.

Physical therapy had started on his legs, with the nurses, under the doctor's constant watch, moving his limbs incrementally in preparation for the day when he would put weight on them again. The doctor was always there to supervise and assist, which Blaine suspected wasn't strictly necessary but appreciated nonetheless.

The therapy sessions allowed them to continue their pleasant exchanges. They spoke in general terms, and Blaine enjoyed hearing of life in the United States. It seemed freer somehow. He was almost certain that he and the doctor had quite a bit in common. They were a similar age and seemed to have similar experiences, with the difference that Dr. Humphrey's life seemed to have such opportunity. On more than one occasion he spoke fondly of his father, sadly deceased, and how his father had understood the doctor's wish to live his own life, as long as it was what made him happy.

"I am sure your father wishes only for you to be happy as well, Lieutenant," the doctor had said one afternoon after a physical therapy session. Blaine supposed the nurses were either busying themselves with other patients, or perhaps the doctor was not concerned with the fact that he was speaking on such informal terms with a patient. Perhaps he spoke in such ways with all his patients.

"I must seem so ungrateful to you," Blaine had said, "for my father is still living and yet I am not able to connect with him like you did with yours. I wish that it were different, but I fear my father is all too aware that my desires are not in keeping with his plans for my future."

"The world is not what it once was," the doctor had replied, "and it cannot go back to what it was before this war. Change can be difficult for many people, especially in a rigid society such as that in the United Kingdom. Perhaps after the war you should think of casting off these shackles you feel from the old world, and enter the new."

Blaine's breath hitched and he let himself imagine, for a moment, a new life in the United States, a life where he could know the doctor as a friend, where his 'desires' could hope to be fulfilled.

"I should think I would like that very much," he had whispered, saying nothing more as the doctor had left the room.

Blaine had hoped the discussion would continue later that evening when the doctor did his final rounds, as their discussions commonly did. Like their early morning conversations, their exchanges in the evening had become a comforting part of his day and a brief moment of connection to the world.

But the doctor did not visit that night and Blaine drifted off to sleep eventually, supposing that the doctor must have a life outside the hospital after all. Perhaps a new picture was showing at the theatre next by. He looked forward to hearing about the film.

He was awoken too early, however, by clumsy footsteps in the hall. The footsteps came closer to his room and the door opened. He lay still, wondering what was happening. If it was Dr. Humphrey, however, he didn't say anything. Blaine felt him in the room and listened keenly as the person sat down on a chair near his bed. Eventually, he heard the person's breaths shudder.

"Doctor?"

"Dr. Humphrey?"

"I… I am sorry I did not mean to wake you," the doctor's voice was hoarse.

Blaine waited for the doctor to say something more but the only sounds in the room were even more labored and shuddering breaths. Blaine realized the doctor was crying.

"Doctor what has happened?" Blaine began to panic. Was it his brother? His father? Had Hitler mounted a renewed attack on the British Isles? "Doctor, please," Blaine propped himself up slightly, feeling a twinge as his legs complained at the movement. "Tell me doctor, has there been an attack?"

A sharp intake of breath escaped from the doctor's lips and Blaine knew something had happened.

"Is it Hitler? I did not hear the wireless this evening. Please, doctor, I need to know."

Blaine heard the doctor take a deep, halting breath.

"It is not Hitler," the voice sounded so forlorn, so distant. Blaine recognized the distance in Dr. Humphrey's voice and worried further. Blaine's voice had had that tone when he had felt at his most lost, trying to stay lost and not feel anything.

"My… my brother? My father?" Blaine thought perhaps the doctor was upset at having to impart bad news.

"No…" the doctor whispered, "it is my brother."

"But…"

"The Japanese," Kurt said, "at just before 8am local time the Japanese mounted an air attack on Pearl Harbor. The news reached the wires here just after dinner-time. There are massive casualties. I fear my brother – _all _– my brothers are… are… _dead_." His voice hitched and his breathing huffed, "I fear the world has another great enemy in this war, and the world as a whole is now at war. I am no longer a volunteer helping an allied country in trouble, I am a brother at arms, and a brother in mourning."

Blaine felt the tears welling and soaking the bandages around his face, but could not bring any words to form.

"I must return, or report anyway, to see what I can do."

"Of course," Blaine said. "Doctor… Kurt… I am so sorry that you now know the horror that it is to have such devastation befall you. I am deeply sorry that your country has suffered such an attack on its own soil."

"I…" Dr. Humphrey started, took a deep breath, and then continued. "I don't even know what I can do, or where I can go. Here in England, in the middle of the night, I feel so isolated. So helpless."

"I understand."

"I am sorry to wake you," he said again. "I just… I thought I owed you an explanation before disappearing."

"I would have understood," Blaine said, touched all the same. He started to move his arm, to reach out to the Doctor, but stopped himself, not wanting to overstep. "We must fight in this war, in whatever way we can. You have convinced me of that, and when I am able I will re-enter the war effort in any way I can."

"What if it's not enough?" the doctor asked. "What if the attacks continue, if more forces enter the fray on the side of evil? What if all is lost?"

"I don't believe that," Blaine said. "As long as we are alive, there is hope."

A short silence followed, and Blaine wondered if he would ever speak to the doctor again.

"It is as Churchill has said," Blaine continued. "We will prevail. We will never surrender. And maybe, when our two countries are victorious, you and I will meet again, in different circumstances."

"I hope so, Blaine," a hand squeezed Blaine's, and was gone all too quickly. "Thank you."

"It is I who must thank you," Blaine said, wanting to cry out for the doctor to stay with him as he felt movement around him. "I am forever indebted to you for your care of me, and your company during this long period of isolation I have felt."

"Fare well, Blaine. I hope to meet again."

All too quickly, Blaine was alone again. The room around him felt more oppressive than ever, and he felt the weight of a thousand horses on his chest pushing him back into the isolated world he thought he had left behind him. He let a sob escape into what he assumed was the darkness around him, and succumbed to it, wishing that the world were different, and that such tragedies did not exist.

* * *

_To be continued…_

A/N: While you're waiting (and it won't be long, I promise), check out this YouTube of the song "Face The Music and Dance": (YouTube DOT com[slash]watch?v=dMuKRbJa3O8), from whence the lyrics above come. It describes the mood for this part pretty well. You *could* skip to the song (about 3 minutes 30 seconds in), but the preamble of the silent play really explains the context…


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Where There is Moonlight and Music (Part 2 of 2)  
**Rating**: PG  
**Pairing:** Klaine  
**Word Count:** 5,768 (this part, ~12,000 total)  
**Betas**: agent_girlsname and perry_avenue over at LJ

**Summary**: British Air Force Lieutenant Blaine Anderson is injured in the London Blitz, leaving him temporarily blinded and uncertain about his future.

* * *

In the weeks that followed Dr. Humphrey's departure, Blaine felt more frustrated than ever by his situation. His physical therapy and recovery continued well, but it could not continue fast enough for him. He wanted to be useful again. He wanted to be part of the war effort again. He wanted to live again.

News of his impatience and renewed fervor to fight reached his father, who finally visited him, just a couple of days before Blaine's blindfolding bandages were due to be removed.

"I hear your mood has changed, these past few weeks," his father said that day.

"I am impatient to leave this place, father," Blaine said. "I am impatient to contribute to the war effort – for this war needs all the soldiers we and our allies can muster."

"I am glad to hear it," Mr. Anderson replied. "I had feared from earlier reports that you might refuse to fulfill your duties as a good British man."

Blaine thought his father emphasized the word 'man' but couldn't be sure.

"I have the doctors and nurses here to thank," Blaine said. "They have seen to it that I will be in a state to contribute, even if it is not as a pilot."

"Yes I hear you and a young American doctor built up quite a rapport," Mr. Anderson said. "I assume you are aware that said doctor has returned to his duties in the US Air Force."

"Yes, of course, Father," Blaine said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. "Dr. Humphrey was my primary doctor, but left shortly after the Pearl Harbor attack. I believe his brother may have been killed in that barbaric affront on the United States."

"Now, now, Blaine," his father warned, "such emotive language will not help the war effort. We must keep cool heads. Dr. Hu- Dr. Humphrey was just one of many doctors, and the attack on the United States was an act of war, just like every other act of war against our and other peoples in this time."

"Yes, Father," Blaine would have rolled his eyes if he could. "How is my brother?"

"He is at sea," Mr. Anderson replied. "I have not inquired further, and nor should you. Now, have you thought how you may be deployed following your release?"

Actually, Blaine had thought about this question a great deal. He already knew he would not fly again. He had come to terms with that, with Kurt's – _Dr. Humphrey's_, he scolded himself – assistance.

"I have, Father," Blaine said. "I thought perhaps as I should probably be confined to a non-active role, that I might work in support of our alliances through communications – I have always written well and am an effective communicator."

"We have women for basic communications functions, Blaine," Mr. Anderson seemed impatient, "but I suppose you meant as an advisor, which is an officer class position. You are not an officer."

"I know, Father, I just thought…"

"You thought that I would help?"

"I thought you would be proud of my enthusiasm to remain within the Air Force, to continue fighting in the best way I can, as a man of the British Armed Forces."

Blaine held his breath. He could almost _hear_ his father thinking.

"I will inquire with some of my colleagues," Mr. Anderson said finally. "I _am _proud of your fervour, Blaine. But you must be sure to serve the greater war effort, and not any effort of your own."

"Of course, Father," Blaine breathed, allowing his spirits to lift. "I will not let you down."

Four days later, Blaine sat fully upright as the ageing Scottish doctor who had replaced Dr. Humphrey started removing his bandages for the last time. When instructed he opened his eyes for the first time in over six months.

He had expected this moment to be an awakening of sorts, to have light and life return to him in one moment of startling clarity. Instead, he shied away from the light in the room, dim as it was, not feeling much of the re-connection he had expected and desired. He took in his surroundings. The beds around him held sleeping or unconscious officers not as lucky as he, encased in drab, greying white and green hospital linens. The floor was equally drab and slightly more green, but looked clean. There was a small window behind him but it was grimy with dust and didn't let much light through. To his unaccustomed eyes, however, it was affronting.

Finally, Blaine's eyes settled on the figure in front of him, an elderly man with many wrinkles on his face, showing his experience and exhaustion all at once. It wasn't this face Blaine had been looking forward to seeing while in his forced blindness. He couldn't help but be disappointed.

The doctor spoke in a thick brogue and Blaine had to concentrate to understand his instructions. There could be some persistent eye-watering and he may require sunglasses to assist his eyes in adjusting for a while, but otherwise they were healthy. Provided everything went well and he continued his physical therapy, he would have near-full movement of his legs within a month. He would be able to return to the outside world within six weeks.

Blaine was glad to have news he would be able to leave, but wasn't so sure he would feel any less isolated once out of the hospital.

More likely, he thought he would be blinded by the world around him all over again. It was exciting and frightening to have his sight back, but he still felt disconnected. It was now _too_ bright, and also somehow foreign. He had been absent from the world so long he wasn't sure how to view it any more.

He wished Kurt was there.

* * *

The doctor proved right about the sunglasses. His father had most definitely not approved when he had first seem them – _"_You look too _American_" – but that had only served to make Blaine appreciate them more.

He returned to service, working in the Allied liaison office out of London, and dedicated himself to his task. If he seemed to express more of an interest in their American allies over others, his superiors and colleagues did not seem to notice. More importantly, his father didn't seem to notice.

Still, he took particular care to ensure visiting American officers were impressed by his work, and was especially attentive to their requirements. He paid particular attention to their documentation and requests, and slowly became an asset to the functioning relationship between the two allies. He also, he hoped, forged useful contacts for the post-war era.

The war dragged on, however, and Blaine started to despair it would never end. The losses continued despite the combined efforts of the allies, and his brother became one of the many when the HMS Achates sank on 31 December 1942. That loss took a particular toll on his father, who was forced to take leave from his position. Blaine also felt the blow deeply, but it made him feel more connected to those soldiers and officers around him, although strangely less connected to his homeland. There was less reason to remain following the war. He worked even harder in his role, but continued to feel the same sense of isolation he had felt in the hospital, even with his sight restored.

His superiors noticed and, thinking his grief worsened by inaction, suggested he return to the field in some capacity. Blaine was hesitant, but agreed in the spring of 1944 when an opportunity came up to work as liaison to what was being called the "United Nations", an international organisation to replace the "League of Nations" that had failed to prevent world war.

Almost a year later, Blaine was in the United States in the late summer of 1945 when the war finally ended. By the end of October 1945, he had secured himself a civilian position in the newly formed United Nations, telegraphed Command with his resignation from the Air Force, and also telegraphed his father to inform him that he would not be returning to Britain. He refused to look backwards or be shackled by the life he had known prior to the war.

In securing his position at the United Nations, he also negotiated a period of leave such that he would commence in his new role on 2 January 1946.

Until then, it was time to explore a new world. It was time to begin his search in earnest.

* * *

"Humphrey, you say?" The small woman with horn-rimmed glasses asked.

"Yes, _Kurt Humphrey_, doctor with the US Air Force, stationed in Pearl Harbor up until mid-1941 and then a volunteer on loan to the British Air Force in the United Kingdom until after the attack."

"I'm sorry, but there's no record of a Humphrey in the Air Force from this district. Perhaps you could try in the next county?"

Blaine repeated this exchange in what seemed like every county, every town and every city in the United States.

When the US Air Force centralized records had proved inadequate, he had gone to Pearl Harbor. People there had been sympathetic, but they had misunderstood. They thought he was searching for someone who had been there during the attack (and in a way he was too, for if he found Kurt's brother Finn or at least information about him then that would help), but even then the only 'Humphrey' on the record was a Peter Humphrey, 42 years old. He'd met Peter Humphrey but the lead was a dead end.

He had then started to journey across the mainland United States. He thought the doctor had mentioned being from 'the Midwest' but couldn't recall the name of a town. All he could do, was travel east, and hope for some luck. In every town he stepped into the records office or city chambers or armed forces station to inquire about Dr. Kurt Humphrey. Every time he received the same response as he had from the woman with the horn-rimmed glasses.

No record.

He tried not to be discouraged. He didn't know where Kurt had enlisted but each stop further east he became a bit more hopeful despite himself that even if Kurt had not enlisted, he would be known to the person – even though it was unlikely given the great distance between most American towns, and even though he couldn't even offer a description of him.

* * *

He arrived by train into Columbus from Indianapolis, early one crisp December evening of 1945. The main businesses in town were just beginning to close up, and Blaine hurried to find the city chambers or war office before they closed; rather than be discouraged about how far east he had come with no luck, he was excited that he must be getting closer.

"Humphrey, you say? This time it was a man, but he had horn-rimmed glasses like most of the people who checked records.

""Yes, _Kurt Humphrey_, doctor with the US Air Force, stationed in Pearl Harbor up until mid-1941 and then a volunteer on loan to the British Air Force in the United Kingdom until after the attack. His brother, Finn, was also with the Air Force in Pearl Harbor, but wasn't so lucky."

There was a pause, or did Blaine imagine it? Ultimately, though, the man's response was the same: "I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but there's no record of a Humphrey in the Air Force from this district. Perhaps you could try in the next county."

Blaine felt more deflated than usual. He had come so far, what if he never found him?

"That's ok," he said softly, leaning against the counter for support. "Hopefully I'll have more luck there tomorrow. Maybe I'll try Westerville, or head north-west to Lima."

The man's face suddenly snapped up.

"Lima?"

"Yes," Blaine stopped breathing.

"And his name is Kurt, and he has a brother, Finn?"

"Y- yes?" Blaine managed to say, still feeling like the air had been taken out of his lungs. He held his poise there just waiting, as the main rifled through some papers.

"Could you be referring to Kurt _Hummel_ and his brother Finn _Hudson_?" the man pulled out a piece of paper with a list and thumbed down until he found something. He then turned to one of the small drawers behind him and started rummaging in it.

Blaine was gob-smacked. Had he had Kurt's name wrong all this time? But he was sure he had said Humphrey? That's how he had introduced… suddenly Blaine realized that Kurt had been very careful _not_ to introduce himself as Dr. Humphrey. In fact, Blaine's whirring thoughts took him back to a very distinct moment. A moment that had been punctuated by pain and confusion, but a moment that had also been the first time he had heard Kurt's voice. When the nurse had seemingly corrected him as he was saying his name.

"I… I guess I could," Blaine said, licking his lips as a sense of excitement started to well in him. "I knew him in England in the earlier stages of the war, and 'Hummel' is a rather German name, isn't it? Perhaps he adopted a pseudonym to avoid any unpleasantness?"

"Hmpf, sounds like something you stuck-up Brits would require," the man responded. "Ah HA! Here we are, yes Kurt Hummel." He pulled out a card with a grainy photo and some basic information. "Is that him?"

"Y- yes," Blaine squeaked, his eyes blinking rapidly. He had never seen Kurt before, but he wanted it to be him so badly. It _must _be him. He tried to capture and record the image in the small browning photograph. "Oh my thank you so much sir! You cannot know how grateful I am!"

"Hmmm," the man was reading the file, "yes, Kurt Hummel enlisted with his step-brother and next of Kin, Finn Hudson. As far as I can tell, Dr. Hummel is still with the Air Force, but as you will know operational whereabouts would not be expected to be on this file. You say Finn Hudson passed away in the Pearl Harbor attack?" The record keeper looked up at Blaine.

"Um, well I assumed so, but since I've been using the wrong name maybe not?"

The man reached back into the drawer and pulled out a second card. "Ah indeed _not_, records here say that Hudson was awarded an honorable discharge in 1943, last known address is in Lima. Would you like me to give it to you?"

Blaine didn't think he could speak and just nodded. He lifted his hand to take the address written on a small note-card and tried to stop it from shaking quite so much as he took the card in his fingers. He nodded and even bowed to the man in front of him, tears coming to his eyes. Finally he managed to say thank you, and then just kept saying it in one long stream. The man started to look suspicious and Blaine turned to leave as fast as he could, wondering how quickly he could get to Lima the next day.

* * *

He was in Lima just after lunchtime, after paying decidedly too much for the fare, as only first class seats had remained. He quickly left the station and walked towards the main shops, where he was assured he would find _Hummel's Tires and Lube_.

He thought his pace would quicken as he approached, but instead it got slower and slower. What if Kurt was there? What if he didn't even know who Blaine was? What if he did but didn't care to see him again – only considered him one of many patients in a long war? Blaine had no idea what Kurt had seen or done once the American allies had entered the war effort. He'd tried to look out for him but since he'd had the wrong surname all along it was little wonder he had not been successful. He wished he'd known the correct name from the start. It would have been so much easier, one way or the other.

Blaine realized he had stopped and was just a couple of feet from the garage entrance. A figure appeared, apparently looking for someone on the street, and looked at him, confused.

"You ok there mister?" the young man had a stronger American accent than Kurt had, and looked to be ethnic of some type. Blaine didn't think this was Finn.

"I… I am looking for Finn Hudson, or Kurt Hummel," Blaine nearly faltered saying Kurt's name.

"Ah the boss is away," the man, practically still a boy, said.

"Oh, I see," Blaine wasn't sure which person the man was referring to. "Do you know when he will return?"

"Who are you talking to Puck?" A rougher, older voice rang out from inside the garage, and was soon followed by a bulky greasy looking man.

"This English fella is looking for Finn," Puck responded. "I said he was away."

"Why you lookin' for Finn?" the greasy man said.

"I…" Blaine wasn't sure why but he didn't feel at ease with this man. "I was with the British Air Force and trained with him before you Americans joined the war. I only just discovered he survived the horrible attacks at Pearl Harbor. I had thought him dead, you see, but now that I have discovered otherwise and since I am in the USA, I thought I would look him up. We shared quite a lot in those training days."

The greasy man eyed Blaine warily. "Did you boys train with the Brits before the attack?" he asked Puck, but Puck didn't' appear to be listening anymore; his attention was more focused across the street where a young waitress was setting the tables in the window of a diner. "What? Oh yeah, sure," he replied vaguely, and Blaine tried not to let out a sigh of relief.

"Um, so he is away then?" Blaine prodded tentatively. "May I inquire as to where? Or for how long?"

"Lord knows how long," the greasy man grumbled. "He ups and leaves me in charge of this dump and of managing Casanova here," he gestured towards Puck, "all because that fairy brother of his has got into some trouble in New York. Something about a dishonorable discharge – as if people like him should have been let into the Air Force anyway!"

"Oh, so he's in New York?" Blaine concentrated on the pertinent information at hand and ignored the rest, although his teeth started clenching in his jaw.

"Yeah I figure, probably staying with his old sweetheart and her husband since they're still on friendly terms. Here, I'll find their address for you. It's really swell that you've come this way and if you two were friends before the war then he would be unhappy to miss your visit."

Blaine saw Puck suddenly look surprised at the reference to being friends with Finn and prayed silently that he wouldn't say anything.

"Thank you very much, Mr. … ?"

"Not a problem, now if you'll excuse me these cars ain't gonna fix themselves. PUCK! Stop looking like a love-sick pansy and help me!"

Blaine never did get the man's name, but he wasn't sure he minded. He had to get to New York.

* * *

The train trip to Penn Station in New York City was long, taking much of the next day and early evening. Blaine spent most of the trip oscillating from excitement to fear, and trying to sleep in between. The world around him had seemed so harsh ever since leaving that hospital in Britain, so cacophonous after a sightless and quiet existence in the hospital. It had been too much - replacing isolation with complete sensory overload. The end result was that where he was, sitting on a train rumbling through the American landscape, he felt more isolated than ever. But the long silver threads of the train tracks were pulling him out of his isolation, he could feel it.

Once in New York City, he found his way to the address on the piece of paper. There, he stood outside for some time. What if Kurt was in there? Was it too late to knock on the door? It was nearing 8pm, surely that was too late for a stranger to be knocking on the door? What if this person didn't want to divulge Kurt's whereabouts? What if the Kurt in the picture wasn't the person he was looking for at all?

Blaine shook himself out of his doubt and took a deep breath. He had not come this far to wait any longer. He had not come this far to stop at the key moment. However it was to play out, it would play out, and he was going to play it now.

The door opened quite quickly after he knocked.

"Oh, oh I'm sorry I was expecting someone else… ah can I help you?" A petite woman had answered the door quite enthusiastically, only to retreat in behind the door quite quickly, guarding the interior carefully.

"I do apologize for disturbing you so late," Blaine removed his hat as he spoke. "I was provided this address by a colleague of Mr. Finn Hudson in Lima, Ohio, who said I might find him here? I have come a long way, you see."

"Oh, oh I'm so sorry sir but Mr. Hudson left to catch the train this afternoon. You have only missed him by a couple of hours."

Blaine smiled. "Ah, I fear he must have boarded the same train from which I alighted only a short while ago."

Blaine didn't quite know what else to say, whether he should ask after Kurt or not. He didn't know if this person knew Kurt at all. He shifted a bit from foot to foot.

"Did you travel all the way from Lima, Mr. ...?"

"Anderson," Blaine supplied. "Former Lieutenant Blaine Anderson." He didn't know why he'd added his rank, perhaps to make the woman feel more at ease talking to a stranger in the dark, but the impact of his words seemed great judging by her reaction. She gasped a little and raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes going wide. Quickly, however, she composed herself, social graces returning as she stepped back and opened the door further.

"I am Rachel St James, Lieutenant Anderson, and a close friend of Mr. Hudson's brother. Would I be correct in assuming you are in fact here in search of Dr. Hummel, and not Mr. Hudson?"

Blaine could only nod, fixed on the spot. The very fact that Mrs. St James seemed to know him caused his spirits to lift significantly, but he felt if he said or did anything that the bubble might burst, revealing the dream for some sort of delusion.

"Please, Lieutenant, come in for a moment."

Blaine followed her into the house and sat down in the living room as she did. "Is he, is he here?" He couldn't keep the question inside any longer.

"No," Mrs. St James smiled. "I am glad that you have come, though, because it gives me an opportunity to size you up. You are quite handsome, aren't you? I can't believe Kurt didn't mention those soft, hazel eyes of yours."

Blaine tried to ignore the inference that Kurt may have commented on his physical appearance. He hoped Kurt would think of him that way, but didn't want to count on it. It seemed too close to his fantasy, too perfect that Kurt's desires would match his own and that he would look upon Blaine as Blaine hoped to look upon him.

"Well Dr. Hummel has never seen my eyes," he replied, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, though probably failing to disguise his excitement. "I was severely injured in the Blitz and my head was covered in bandages the whole time he cared for me."

"So you have never set eyes upon him?"

"No Ma'am," Blaine shook his head. "Those were difficult months, but made infinitely more bearable by the conversation, care and patience he displayed as my primary physician. We shared some interests and he was kind enough to converse with me, to help the time pass and stymie the isolation that I felt. I was so very sad when he had to leave following the attack on Pearl Harbor, for many reasons. In fact, until only a couple of days ago I had thought his brother killed in the attack."

"We all did for some months," Mrs. St James cast her eyes down, "but Kurt insisted on visiting every hospital in the vicinity of Pearl Harbor – even the local ones – and he found him. He was unconscious and almost unrecognizable, but it was him. By then, we were in the war and the Japanese advance in the Pacific was particularly frightening. Kurt was sent to various places in the Pacific Arena. He only returned a little while ago," she paused, and looked at Blaine with calculating eyes. "The first thing he did when he got back was to look for you, but you are no longer with the Air Force?"

Blaine shook his head and slumped back into the couch, laughing at the irony. "The first thing I did when the war ended was secure a new civilian life here in the United States. In fact, I was planning to leave before the war even ended, in the hope that it _would_ end eventually. Thank God it did."

"And Kurt?" Mrs. St James' response was lightning fast, and Blaine realized he was being tested. She _knew_, and she accepted it.

"Why do you think I chose the United States for my new life?" Blaine cocked an eyebrow. "Most of everyone I know is opting to move to the countryside, or to a Commonwealth country like Canada, or Australia. But I didn't think I'd find Kurt in any of those places."

Mrs. St James, nodded, and stood to approach the desk in the corner of the room. "This is the name and address of the hospital where he now works, as a civilian doctor", she wrote as she spoke. "He is working there tonight – the night-time shift – so you can head over there now or at about 7am tomorrow when he finishes his shift." She paused to look at Blaine and grinned. "Don't worry, the coffee at the diner across the road isn't too bad."

"He is a civilian doctor now?" Blaine asked, taking the paper in his hand. "I, um, how did… I mean yesterday I heard…"

"I'm sure I know who you talked to if you went to the tire shop," Mrs. St James interrupted him, "and take no notice. When Kurt advised he wanted to leave the Air Force there were some ruffles and someone tried to make trouble, but that's all sorted. Finn saw to that and made sure that that person was exposed for who they were."

"O- okay," Blaine was confused, but concentrated on the information and priorities at hand. He had the address of where he could find Kurt _right at that minute_. The realization hit him with a start and he rose to his feet. "I, um, thank you, Mrs. St James, you have been incredibly kind and helpful and I hope to repay you one day, but I must leave now."

"Of course," she led him to the front door, "and please, call me Rachel. I have a feeling we shall see each other again, and it would seem odd to maintain such formality."

Blaine made a fuss of putting his hat back on in an attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes, and stepped outside. There, he turned and gave a short bow and a wave to Rachel, who smiled and nodded back at him. He was away.

He searched at first for a taxicab to take him to the hospital, but they were scarce, so he started walking with the help of some directions from a policeman. It was a cold night but he was propelled by his emotions, passing block after block in what seemed like no time at all, barely noticing his surroundings.

Almost an hour later, he saw the lights of the hospital, as three ambulances passed him by, all with their sirens blaring. They all stopped in the emergency entrance and Blaine tried to see from his distant vantage point whether any of the staff exiting the building could be Kurt.

He stopped himself and considered his situation for a moment. It was almost 10pm, some accident had obviously befallen some New Yorkers meaning the hospital would be busy, and after a lengthy day and walk he probably looked a mess.

He considered finding a hotel nearby, but before he could get too far some lights across the road from the hospital caught his eye. The diner. He hurried in and ordered some coffee and food. The waitress looked upon him pityingly, probably imagining him as a relative of a sick person in the hospital, and offered him use of the staff bathroom, including the shower. He accepted and before he knew it, before midnight even, he was fed, watered, washed, and in a fresh set of clothes.

He had no more excuses.

Outside, there was much less activity than there had been when he'd first arrived. The arrival lane was empty at the emergency room, and there weren't any people scurrying about. Blaine walked through the door and navigated to the general admissions area – he did not want to bother the nurses at emergency.

"Yes?" a bored, overweight woman drawled.

"I- I'm so sorry to interrupt," Blaine said, "but I was hoping I might be able to speak to Dr. Hummel?"

"Who?"

Blaine's heart dropped. "Dr. Hummel," he repeated, "Dr. Kurt Hummel."

"Oh right, yeah, he's the new guy isn't he? Pretty boy all the young nurses are tittering about?"

"That will be him, yes," Blaine smiled with relief, "I believe he is on duty tonight and I wondered whether I might…"

"Are you ill?"

"What? Uh, no."

"Well then I'm not sure I can help you sir," the woman responded, and consulted her ledger. "It has been a busy night and the doctors work very hard with their patients."

"Oh of course," Blaine ran his hand through his hair, calming the curls that rebelled against the styling wax. "I am willing to wait until he's on break. I've come a long way you see."

"I can hear that in your accent," the woman nodded, "but that don't change the fact that Dr. Hummel is a doctor here and very busy."

"I quite understand," Blaine said, deflated. "Perhaps if you don't mind I might wait anyway?"

"Suit y'self," she shrugged.

"Thank you," Blaine patted the counter in front of him and looked around. "I think I'm going to get a coffee from that diner across the street. Would you like one?"

"Uh… sure," she looked surprised by the offer.

"Ok then I'll be back in no time. Would you mind telling him, if you see him, that I am here?" Blaine hoped he wasn't pushing too far.

"I… I'll see what I can do."

Blaine went back to the diner and bought two coffees. The nurse seemed even more surprised when he reappeared with coffees but wasn't obviously more friendly.

"No promises, Mr. …"

"Anderson," Blaine supplied, "Blaine Anderson."

With that, he settled himself into a chair at the end of a bank of four, near the window by the entrance door. There was a small table next to the chairs where he placed his satchel and briefcase, and he positioned his coat over him like a blanket. He supposed he should probably just find a hotel, but nothing was taking him away from that hospital at that moment.

He drifted off to sleep, barely noticing as people came in and out of the hospital at infrequent intervals. Occasionally the bright lights of a car would pierce through his eyelids but mostly he kept them shut, listening for a familiar sound or sounds.

When he heard some, he thought he was still sleeping at first. There was murmuring, a tone of surprise, and then a gasp. Blaine smiled a little with his eyes still closed. He was imagining Kurt discovering him, like he had so many times before, and was going to enjoy the fantasy.

A touch on his leg shocked his eyes open.

"Blaine?"

Everything stopped as Blaine's eyes focused on the face in front of him. He looked older than in the picture, but so much more vibrant. The picture had not done justice to the small flecks of green in his eyes, to the light peppering of freckles on his cheekbones, to the rich mélange of browns in his hair color, made evident by the cool light of dawn filtering through the window.

"Blaine, is it really you?" Kurt's voice whispered, his hand now clasping at Blaine's leg as he crouched in front of him. He looked into Blaine's eyes with wonder. "I thought I would never see you! After I came back from Britain the war was so horrible and I was in such far-flung locations, and then I returned and I called the Air Force in England and they said you weren't in the Air Force, and then I called your father and he acted like he'd lost both sons in the war, and I didn't know what was going on but I was just hoping you'd be out there somewhere and that maybe, and oh your eyes are beautiful and healed, and you don't even need a walking stick? Oh how I wish I'd been able to see these eyes when I had first known you…"

Kurt trailed off and took a couple of deep breaths. All Blaine could do was blink rapidly, shock having overwhelmed him. He wanted to cry, laugh, hug and kiss Kurt, all at once. It was obvious that it hadn't been in his head, that their connection had been genuine and that his search had been justified.

"Blaine? Blaine won't you say something?" Kurt's voice got tighter with emotion, and Blaine felt tears welling as the emotion hit him with equal force. "Oh Blaine you're crying, please say something."

"Oh-" Blaine cleared his throat. "Oh _Kurt_," he said, smiling through the tears. "Oh _there_ you are," he moved his hand to place it on top of Kurt's and squeezed. "I've been looking for you forever."

* * *

_The End._

A/N: Thanks for reading!


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